


Righting His Wrongs

by ForgetMeNotAuthor



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994)
Genre: Blood Sharing, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Future Fic, Gay, Inspired by Interview With the Vampire, Kissing, M/M, No Sex, Non-Explicit Sex, Rough Kissing, Smut, Spoilers, Submissive Lestat de Lioncourt, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgetMeNotAuthor/pseuds/ForgetMeNotAuthor
Summary: Time was a futile concept to vampires, yet those who cling to memories of it find themselves wondering the streets of their old lives, changed by the passing of decades into new beginnings that shattered the past. Maybe a certain vampire, Louis de Pointe du Lac, would find himself in the presence of the maker he had left years before; ready to right the wrongs he had committed - with the intimacy both craved.
Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	Righting His Wrongs

The night had become an old friend of the creatures that lurked in it's timely shadow. The moon hung its luminescent glow onto the streets of New Orleans seemingly desolate streets, quiet as one would expect at 4 AM. Only the distant laughs and chatters of drunken adventures lingered distantly in the air. Some remained on their amble walks home, from the blurry night they used to forget the world that surrounded them; however wonderful it seemed, it was easier to forget and resemble something oh so alive than crave the death that was taken away from you. That is not a typical crave, is it? 

Not unless you've lived for 200 years in pain-staking misery of loss, memory and yearning - like Louis de Pointe du Lac had. 

Tonight was particularly unpleasant. It marked the anniversary, of however many years ago, that his mortal life was drained and replaced with the everlasting gift that he ever so gratefully received from his maker: Lestat De Lioncourte. A man he so loved, yet had lost. 

Every fervour's memory that persisted so vividly in his mind was brought to light on that night. That death had touched his very heart and broken his soul, finally, into craving a life he could never have truly imagined. The tightness of Lestat's grip around his waist, clinging to him as Louis did to life, the frigid feeling of his dead lips against the crook of his neck; the aching that lulled him into a heated, sickening ecstasy that none had ever given him before. He could feel the blood seeping out of his skin and down the warmth throat of his own personal reaper along with the life he so longed to lose. 

“Do you still want death – or have you tasted it enough?”  
The first phrase. The damned phrase that changed his fate, despite not believing in such superficial nonsense. His voice was as alluring as an angels. As Lucifer's – an aphrodisiac that numbed him into damnation. That's when he realised that God had abandoned him: and truly, he was alone. Not alone, no. He now had someone who wasn't going to leave his side. However much malcontent he held toward him – he was all Louis knew. Yet still, he lost that again. He was curious to where his Prince of the Night had disappeared off to. 

“Your adventures still lead you along the same streets do they, my dear friend?” 

For a moment, he believed he was dreaming. Or the alcohol had made his head spin too much into a delirious mess of bringing his cravings to life. Or, it was another calling out. It felt too good to be real. The same captivating voice and phrase that made his un-dead heart flutter. 

“Time has continued on, yet you ignore me so, as you did before?” 

This time, he turned to face the source. Surely not. He had disappeared in the graveyard he had left him in. Yet here he was again: youthful as the day he had met him. His face as sculpted as he remembered, the Dark Gift from God – or purely his parents. The golden curls framing his perfect face, clean and cared for. Lips as crimson as the blood he feasted on, and eyes as blue as the sky they could not lay eyes on. 

“Lestat,” much to his disliking, they came out as a surprised, breathless whisper, “but you...”

“Yes, you left me once again, Louis.” There was no bitterness in his words. A masked sadness behind a honey of fake disappointment, like one would talk to a child to please them. 

Louis had no excuse for what he did. He could feign remorse for his previous actions – blinded by Claudia and his hatred for his maker. It turned out to be the furthest from hatred, after all. It could have been the sorrow for the state he saw Lestat in. Or the pity that surrounded his withered form. Whatever the reason was, he could not claim it to be good enough for leaving him yet again. 

“Did I not tell you, all those years ago, that it would be nothing but fire and sunlight that would destroy me?” Lestat continued, his arms comfortably resting at his sides with his head tilted to the side. Whether it was curiosity, or malice he could not tell. Upturned lips, into the smug smirk he held no malicious content confirmed his thoughts. 

Lestat was not here to be spiteful. So, “why?” The words escaped Louis before anything could stop him. It wasn't like Lestat didn't know his thoughts already though. His Dark gift allowed no secrets – much to the blonds content. 

“Oh Louis, don't look so frightened of me. I would never hurt you.” It almost felt like a stab in the heart with a stake. It wouldn't kill, but it would certainly sting. Sting it did, and Louis shoulders straightened and his face lifted. Eyes latched onto Lestat's. 

“Why are you here then, Lestat?”

“Because...I have not given up hope that you want my company yet.”

“You could have found me sooner.”

“Not until after you published your little story of your life to the mortal world. How could you become more of an outcast than you already were, my love?”

“It isn't of your concern...”

“But it is!” Lestat's voice rose; now the anger seeped into his tone, punctuated his every word. With a hollow laugh, he continued, “It is my world too, my dear Louis, the world you exposed to the very people we are trying to hide from!” 

He took steps forward, the sound of his shoes against the stone beneath his feet echoing. The brunette almost stumbled back before a hand tightened around his throat to hold him in place. His expression held nothing. 

“I knew the way you described me was more than the hatred you so love to proclaim.” 

Louis said nothing. Was it that clear in the tapes, or had the reporter embellished his words? No, it wasn't like he hid it at all. He feared nothing that Lestat could do – because the world that he lived in now was much, much worse. 

The world without Lestat was more unbearable than he thought. 

I know your thoughts the voice echoed in his head, and the bigger smirk that captured his lips confirmed that he was not just imagining things. The blonds grip seemed to loosen around his throat, lightly, but not by much. 

Louis took this slight moment of relaxation to, within a moment, press their bodies up against the wall of the nearest building. The shock that covered Lestat's face almost made Louis grow a smirk of his own. If you know my thoughts, then surely you know how truly sorry I am for it all. 

He referred to everything. From the beginning, the cruelty he showed Lestat and the way he let Claudia pull him on strings of her own. His constant denial of Lestat and his feelings regarding his maker. They, of course, were complicated and varied, but the overarching reason – or excuse he could culminate – was love. 

The fingers loosened even more, but pulled Louis face to brush noses with Lestat's own. 

“Show me how much you regret, Louis. How much regret, how much you missed me. Give me what I've always wanted from you, and maybe then I'll truly know how sorry you-” 

Lestat's quiet, whispered rant against Louis mouth was interrupted abruptly by lips pressing against chapped ones. It was desperate, almost. Though the amount of feeling behind such a simple movement made the blond's head spin. The brunettes lips pressed delicately against the blond's in an intoxicating kiss that simply got deeper and deeper as the timeless seconds went on and on. His arms moved from gripping his throat to gripping around his neck.

Louis seemed like the most stable thing in the world. Something that Lestat had waited; for so long for, waited for centuries, was finally here, better than he could ever imagine it to be. He could taste the bitterness of alcohol on his breath, as fruity as Louis always drank. The familiar scent of his old friend filled his senses. The taste of his lips, that he had once imagined would be cold and bitter was surprisingly warm. Was it the alcohol in his system, or had he fed? It had been too long to realise or know what Louis did in his hunger these days. 

It overwhelmed him with surprise. The good kind that lulls you into a racing pit of adrenaline. The ecstasy that comes after an exhilarating chase, seeing the fear behind your preys eyes. Knowing how far above them you are. Although those were all invigorating, all he could think about now was being beneath the one he created. The one that he loved. 

After a few more moments, the brunette pulled away in a breathless, hazy attempt to regain himself. His instincts were always reliable, but this time he wasn't sure. Though his mind was heavy, he could feel himself slowly drifting away into the drug that was Lestat De Lioncourte. 

He was certain it was mutual after Lestat pulled him back in for another kiss. More hungry than the last, desperately tangling his fingers in the loose mahogany locks to hold him there. It was almost like he was drinking him down all over again. Louis hands moved to stabilise himself against the wall behind Lestat's head and dig into the stone wall, chipping away at the loose flecks of brick dust that evidentially got under his nails. 

Their bodies moved together in ways that only lovers could. The sensuality of their hands, tangling into each others clothes and hair, gripping onto one another as if the world would fall away if they didn't. Louis lips slowly but surely parted and his tongue delicately run over Lestat's bottom lip, lazily enticing a sharp inhale from the other. 

Of course, Lestat had experienced this before. It was apart of the hunt he had, enticing his prey into a false sense of security before bringing them down into death with him, but they do not get the chance to become perpetual under his giving kiss. This, though, was different; whether it was because it was Louis, or it was because he was at the mercy of another, he wasn't sure – but what he was sure of was that it was...good. 

Louis took Lestat's shaky breathing as a sign to push more, and he gripped his fingers into the mess of blond, harshly tugging. It elicited a gasp from flaming mouth. In that moment, Louis tongue nudged beneath the plump, sultry lips to hear another sound slip from between them. His tongue licked circles around Lestat's own and completely submerge Lestat in Louis taste. Every sense was heightened. Not just from their immortality, but the craving for this moment piling up on them into a frenzy of friction heat despite the cold air; velvet against their skin, much like the timely clothes they remembered so distinctly, and brought their minds into something scarce felt by those who cheated death.

Louis could unmistakably taste the remnants of iron against his tongue, mingling with the elegance of strawberry cupcakes – probably from the family bakery down the road that remained since the last decade. He couldn't deny how lovely it tasted against the tip of his tongue. Enticing him even more, it almost felt like, to get a sweet treat from Lestat all over again...however it came out. 

He hoped it was sound. Any noise, his name – which, however whining Lestat always sounded; or angry, or casual, it made his heart flutter in the strangest way. Slowly, he pulled back to gaze upon the blond before him. His lids hung low over Maya irises, lilac licking their corners and spreading evening galaxies around in small flecks, gazing back into the forest of emerald with such intensity it knocked the wind out of Louis lungs. 

“Do you still want your apology?” Louis words came gasping, the crisp air filling his lungs that were so parched they could be considered deserts, “or have you tasted it enough?” His tone mocked Lestat's, all that time ago. The very words that brought Louis to his demise, now immortal suffering, thrown into his makers face. 

Lestat himself was surprised. Both at the way Louis still held those words dear to him, and what they did to his stomach. In other words, made it turn in the most endearing way. He paused to rest his head back against the wall with lips parted, revealing the danger held behind his lips,

“More.” His words contrasted Louis back then. The brunette wasn't the only one who remembered the past.

* * *  
Their journey home was swift. As you would expect form two vampires rushing for their eternally pined love; swift as the wind itself, back to he small flat Louis had claimed for himself. It almost made Lestat chuckle – for even his estate from the beginning was never Louis style. They were such opposites. 

The blond had little time to mewl over the place before once again, he could feel the stone against his back of the wall and Louis lips pressed against his own. Desperately craving hands mingled with the fabric of his shirts, running gentle fingers over the cotton ever so carefully, bodies pressed against one another feeling a strange sense of heat rising between them. Lestat's leather jacket was already discarded on the floor near the door. Their shoes were off too, haphazardly near the jacket, but in the dark it wouldn't matter. They could simply clear it up tomorrow. 

Louis leg pressed between Lestat's till their bodies could not go further together. The small mewl, kitten like, that slipped from Lestat's throat made Louis have to part and take a quiet, shaky breath to steady himself. He felt like a starved, ravenous wolf. Lestat was his prey, which amused him deeply, because his maker; now beneath him? Armand would laugh in his face if he even suggested the idea. For Lestat had such a reputation, it was an achievement for Louis to do such things as he already did. Morning hadn't even come yet. 

The curtains were already drawn, obviously. Black out blinds painted each window, to make sure no light could seep in through any crack, that threatened once morning had arrived. They were hidden from the world – as it should be. They belonged to one another. Not to the light of day, nor the people outside, nor the God that had abandoned them. They belonged to the darkness; Lestat the prince of it, and Louis his creation. His beautifully crafted creation. 

Shuffling feet on hardwood floors scurried through to the bedroom, having left each others sides for a few moments to simply go back to gliding hands over flesh once more; soft pants echoing the walls, passion and sensuality pouring from their finger tips and lungs – breathing out the softest moans of thousands of years of waiting. It wasn't enough. Louis needed more. He needed to bring Lestat beneath him in a whirlwind of never-ending pleasure where he knows nothing but Louis, his Louis....his dear, dear friend.

Lestat's back crashed against a soft mattress. For the first time that night, he felt relaxed against a surface different than the hardness of stone. [Insert euphemism here]. It wasn't made. The blanket was sprawled beneath him as he was below Louis, delicately tracing his fingers along the cotton to engrave this feeling into his memory. This night would not be forgotten in a life-time, not a single detail. 

Their eyes held one another's gaze for a few, long moments. Neither could truly recall for how long. Unwavering, sombre eyes cast over Lestat's body like an art piece – painted over centuries. Perfectly pale skin painted in an almost effulgent glow, captured in the crystals of his irises – shining so with the compassion and love he felt for his brunette friend. The blond's lips were parted ever so slightly, upturned in that curiously smug expression he always held. It irked Louis to no end. 

He almost tore the shirt over Lestat's head, discarding it on the floor beside him in the darkness that filled their senses. Beautiful was the only word that he could bring to mind. Sculpted of a young man, warrior from his past, scarred with injuries sustained over – how old was Lestat, he had never even asked – centuries, carving his skin in elegant patterns. His fingers traced every single one, running form his chest down his stomach and back up to capture his throat in one hand; gripping to turn Lestat's head to one side – facing the window – leaning down to delicately, ever so lightly, trace his tongue along the shell, whispering, “you're beautiful.” against winter skin, “a beautiful prince.” 

With his words his hand gripped tighter, Lestat's body contorting against his touch. He could have sworn a moan slipped from between his lips, but he was too focused on sketching scratches along his sides with a free hand – mapping out the skin of his neck with his teeth. Gently scraping deadly fangs, tingling the skin teasingly, till he removed the hand from his throat. The Prince's body visibly relaxed beneath him. A gulp of anticipation made his throat rise – and an undead pulse quicken in his veins. 

Louis tongue licked stripes up his neck, attacking his jaw in circles of wet ecstasy, snapping in the air above the skin. It broke the silence he had. The only thing that echoed the room was the breathing from beneath him, precarious gasping as Louis slowly brought his companion into blasphemous bliss. He took every single second with drinking intimacy – for he had years, decades, to catch up on. Time was an illusion created by the sun turning, after all, it did not matter to them. Louis wouldn't start caring now. 

He stopped for a few moments. Listened to the ragged panting of his friend. Let the anticipation grow in his heart, of his next move – so unreadable on his calm face. The only emotion it held was an unwavering want for his friend. 

With hastened speed, he pulled his shirt over his own head and tossed it to an unknown corner of the room. Wasting no time, he dived back in to press his lips against Lestat's once again. More hunger than the last, more impatience and more yearning – his fingers running up and down his sides to drink every piece of Lestat in he could. Each touch made Lestat's body shiver. Leaning into his fingers, or his lips, gripping his hands into the silky sheets beneath him.  
“Grip onto me.” Louis voice was gentle, yet his fingers moved to dig into his sides to hold him in place. Lestat took no time to comply. Bare skin gripped to one another, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, with a shaky gasp. The realisation hit Louis, much to his delight, “You like this,” his voice was a hum of content, proud achievement and smugness. Something Lestat had never heard in him. It made him melt even further. 

Again, Louis fingers dug into the blond's hips, this time pulling him closer to hold them together, sliding his fingers into the waistband of his tight jeans, hugging his exquisitely carven legs and arse, and sliding them down with no hesitation. He was getting hungrier by the second. Lestat's body rolled against Louis to let him slide them off, and once they hit the floor a shy embarrassment almost came over him. He still held the old, moral principles he had been brought up with. Though he felt the shyness, the embarrassment of exposure, he couldn't help but feel this forbidden romance they once had – whether Louis liked to admit it or not – was incredibly...exciting. However much the times had changed, he still knew the rules of the world. His world. 

Louis fingers traced the sculpture beneath him, his nails tracing over his thighs, moving up his hips and waist, up his body – grazing his chest. Ignoring the ever-growing tent he had, he began to kiss along the exposed skin of his collarbone. He tasted his skin, licking wet patches every now and then. Then biting. Hard, rough sucking into his skin, where Lestats body arched against him. The light brush of skin on skin contact sent Louis mad. 

Their bodies were warm, warm enough to harbour the blood of those they had fed earlier that night – the lingering strength given to them by mortals pumping their bodies with adrenaline. Neither were sure whether it was the heat provided by the friction of their skin, bodies, or the forever growing hearth inside their eyes and hearts. It mattered not in that moment. All that mattered was the light blood seeping onto Louis tongue. Nothing he had ever tasted compared to this. Without a heaven or a God to pray to, he felt this was the closest he had ever been – the furthest away from damnation he had travelled, the thread growing thinner and thinner. 

Lestat did that to him. The taste could be compared to an aged wine. A sweetness tainted by the bitterness of a damned soul, captured in the freshness of a winter morning in Paris after a shower of rain. Of course mingling with the fineness of crimson water. Lestat had hunted the snobs again. 

He pulled back to swallow the moans Lestat breathed. They were somewhere between masochistic ecstasy and a submissive whine- desperate to feel more of Louis, craving his ever so delicate touch. For vampires feel everything so, so much more. He dove his tongue in to press kitten licks and kisses against the reddening skin, sipping at the last drops of blood. It was more drugging than the last time he had the opportunity to taste it. 

It made it even harder to control himself. For you see, vampires are different to the human. Of course, but let me explain. Their physic feels more than a human could ever comprehend. Instead of a simple kiss, it felt like a wildfire spreading through the forest in ones chest – down to the finger tips and up into the brain. Every tantalizing, intoxicating movement was felt in its utmost entirety for longer than it may be. Like an echo of heaven licking a being whose devotion was to the darkness it did not have. 

Louis wondered. He tested. He pursued the curiosity that filled him. Lips pressed against the crook of his neck – feeling the heated pulse of blood on the surface – racing to his touch. With such slowness one wouldn't even notice, he began to nibble. Then bite. Inching his teeth closer and closer to sink them into his companions skin. Oh my, was it delicious. 

Imagine your favourite drink mixed with your favourite smell – coated in ecstasy and the sweetest wine you've ever tasted. Yet a bitterness, tingles the taste buds along with it. It is balanced. He missed it so – for it had been centuries, 200 years, since he had tasted his maker. And he never wanted the moment to end. He was careful, pulling away before he lost all control. Lestat's body was arched against him. Craving his blasphemous act. He held no secrets now – his body was too honest for him. 

He was sure he could hear him mumble something about his harshness, babbling incoherently. Clearly, he was just as gone as Louis was. So they really had neither experienced something like this before. Hell, Louis wasn't even sure if he had experienced it as a mortal. Who, in their many years upon the earth, would ever expect something to occur so lovingly – without the purpose to drain; maim, injure or end the other? Clearly, it was a good first experience. 

Their eyes met, and collided like heaven to earth. What was the quote from Shelley; sunlight clasp the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea? “What are all these kissings worth, if thou not kiss me?”Lestat whispered out. His Gift allowed Louis mind to remain naked to him. Exposed as Lestat below him now. The drunken smile that licked across Lestats face was one of bliss. It made the corners of Louis lips upturn into the gentlest of smiles he hadn't wanted, or craved to spill since he was a mortal man. 

“My Louis, you are as slow as you were all those years ago.” The taunt in Lestat's voice was clear, even as the fangs peaked from beneath his lips in the cheekiest way that made Louis chest bubble. Previous smile that lingered was turned into a devilish smirk, as if from beneath the depths of his statue impassiveness he began to etch a new found expression in his face. It spread up to his eyes. Lestat's character moved to something between concerned and turned on. Louis mind had gone blank to him. 

“I've waited for this movement for too long, Prince of Darkness,” his voice was a feather to Lestats skin – goosebumps dusting his arms, chest, stomach - “and now, I'll take my time to apologize for every wrong that I've committed against you. Let me pamper you, your highness.” 

Lestat's chest pounded in a strange way he hadn't ever felt. A comfortable way, nonetheless, leaning his head up to brush over the brunettes lips once again he nodded. The night was young, with a new love that pierced the darkness – creating their own new shadows of heavenly bliss of which they could ever hope to reach.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm s o sorry there's not very much actual smut in this - it's very very long and drawn out but that's the best kind of smut, honestly. I hope you enjoyed the work nonetheless! This fandom is in need of more Lestat/Louis works, so I'm here to provide.


End file.
